"Oh, no. But I think he would like to. Why do you not like Madame de Champlain?"
She studied him with a thoughtful gaze.
"M'sieu Ralph told me when he went to France he was betrothed to a pretty little French girl, and that some day he would bring her here to be his wife. I was glad of the little girl. I like Marie Gaudrion, but she has to care for the babies and—she does not understand why I love the woods and the rocks. And I thought this other little girl——"
She was so naïve that he smiled, but it was not the smile to hurt one.
"She was a little girl then. But every one grows. Some day you will be a woman."
"No, I will not. I shall stay this way," and she patted the ground decisively with her small foot, the moccasin being little more than a sandal, and showed the high arch and shapely ankle that dimpled with the motion.
"I am afraid you cannot. But I think you will like Madame when you know her. I am her brother, though I have not seen her for over two years."
She studied him attentively. The birds began to grow restless and circled about her as if to warn off the intruder. Then she suddenly listened. There was a familiar step climbing the rock.
M'sieu Destournier parted the hemlock branches.
"I thought I should find you here. Why did you run away? Ah, M. Boullé," but the older man frowned a little.